


Chance Encounters and Interesting Introductions

by MamzelleCombeferre



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Feuilly, Canon Era, Head Canon based, Unlucky Bossuet, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:19:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamzelleCombeferre/pseuds/MamzelleCombeferre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bossuet gets himself in a dangerous situation, is rescued by Feuilly, and introduces him to the Amis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance Encounters and Interesting Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone enjoys this! Please leave feedback if you liked it, didn't like it, etc. Constructive criticism is crucial as I strive to improve my prose writing skills!

L’aigle was not entirely sure how he’d managed to get into this mess, though, granted, he didn’t know how he got into most scrapes. It’d been a good day. The sun was shining, his noon lecture had been canceled, and he hadn’t even tripped on his way to lunch. The rest of his day was spent in meetings which went far into the night, and so L’aigle found himself walking home from the Musain near midnight, alone because he’d finally amassed enough savings to move out of Joly’s flat.

Savings he was about to lose. The robber had come up behind him, securely hidden in the shadows, when he pounced, pinning L’aigle against a wall. L’aigle tried to shout, but before any sounds could be released a heavy, gloved hand covered his mouth. “Shout and I’ll slit your neck.” A small knife caught the light of a nearby street lamp.

L’aigle nodded rapidly, trying to think up any way to get out of this situation and failing miserably, his fear stricken brain unable to produce anything but a stream of curse words. 

“Now give me all your money.” The robber growled. It was impossible to see his face, covered as it was by a workers felt cap. The rest of him was very intimidating though. The man was large, tall, and probably concealing more weapons than Combeferre had hiding in his flat (which was saying something considering his friend’s tendency to hoard anything that could be used in a fight). “I might even let you go unharmed if there’s enough of it.” 

L’aigle thought hard before speaking, unsure if it was allowed, but figured no response was worse than an unsatisfactory one. Reaching into his pockets, he desperately snatched every coin he had. “This is all I have.” He handed it to the robber who gave him a look of disbelief, tempered with simmering anger. It had only amassed to eight sous and two centimes. 

Just as the robber was about to strike out with the knife, a voice rang out. “Let him go Gueulemer.”

The robber whirled around, almost slicing L’aigle’s throat right there in the course of the motion. “What’s it to you Feuilly? Now that you’ve stopped doing jobs and started going honest you’re all of a sudden a defender of students?” Gueulemer laughed, turning around again. 

“You owe me a favor.” Feuilly said, taking a step closer. 

“So what?” And the knife came out again to finish the job. 

L’aigle’s life flashed before his eyes. What would his grandparents think? Had he left the window open at home? He still hadn’t returned Joly’s waistcoat, his favorite green one that Musichetta said made his eyes pop. He’d not yet made his will, though Courfeyrac joked about it enough. He closed his eyes and hoped it would be over quickly. The knife came barely an inch away from his throat before Gueulemer suddenly collapsed. “Honor amongst thieves. You owed me a favor, and I said let him go.” 

L’aigle’s eyes shot open so quick he momentarily feared his eyes would pop right out of his head. Feuilly stood there massaging his knuckles, looking as though he had been merely writing for too long instead of knocking out men who were easily two times his own body weight. When he noticed L’aigle staring, he looked uncomfortable. When L’aigle didn’t say anything he sighed. “Look, you’re welcome.” His body language changed, immediately radiating annoyance concentrated right at L’aigle. He began to walk away when a hand stopped him. 

“Don’t go. I’m L’aigle, Henri L’aigle. Though I also answer to Lesgle, and some people call me Bossuet.” He seemed to get lost a moment in the pile of names. “But that doesn’t really matter. I’d buy you a drink, but I didn’t have much on me to begin with, although I think I have something back at my flat if you want to come with me, but if you’re busy you don’t have to, and I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you.”

Feuilly blushed bright red. “I don’t need any charity. It wasn’t anything more than anyone should have done in my place.” 

“But it was!” L’aigle shouted, much louder than he’d intended to. Lowering his voice again he continued. “You must let me repay you somehow, if not tonight than tomorrow. I could buy you a meal or just a drink at a small café. Are you familiar with the Musain?” 

“That’s a student café. They wouldn’t like me being there.” Feuilly’s voice took on a bitter cast. It was obvious this was a sore point with him, but L’aigle was nothing if not persistent. 

“There’s a back room that my friends and I frequent. We don’t even have to go through the front if you would prefer not to.” 

Feuilly looked apprehensive. He was hardly in a position to turn down a free meal, but it would be wound to his pride that he wasn’t sure he could withstand. There was a part of him too that felt anger towards a man who even had enough money to throw some away on him.

“I’ve got some friends who would love to meet you.”

Feuilly sighed. “I’ll meet you there after I get off work.” He didn’t think he’d ever seen a man grin so wide.

“Then it’s settled.” 

The next day passed quickly, and in the business of it, Feuilly almost forgot about his meeting with L’aigle. When they met in front of the café their introductions were awkward, neither really knowing how to address the other now that adrenaline wasn’t pumping through both their veins.

“Umm…hi.” Feuilly scratched the back of his head to keep his hands from fidgeting with the threads on his sleeves. 

“Hi.” L’aigle looked equally awkward, but more so pleased. “The entrance is back here.” They made their way to the side of the Musain, down a long alley way, till they were almost to the adjacent street. The door was old, visibly weatherworn, and smelled like years old pee, but L’aigle threw it open with little hesitation. The pathway down was dark, lit only by two dying candles. Feuilly nearly tripped on the last step, but caught himself. There was one more door, and once in Feuilly was surprised by the amount of activity in such a small room. There must have been nearly a dozen people, laughing and shouting and making a general ruckus. L’aigle moved amongst these bustling young men with ease, eventually getting all their attentions.

“This is Feuilly.” L’aigle said. Introductions were then made by everyone. Feuilly was made uncomfortable by the unconscious hints of wealth displayed by these students. He was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that L’aigle’s clothing, while worn, was still of better quality than his own. That Jehan had more books on his person now than he had on his entire bookshelf. Even Combeferre’s spectacles reminded him that he could never afford a pair even though he needed them, and so was then reminded of how far a distance there was between these young men and himself. Silently he resolved to accept one drink, maybe enjoy a little conversation, and then be gone like Cinderella at midnight from the volume of fairy tales he had devoured during his last trip to the reading room. Unlike Cinderella, he did not have a magical godmother to make him seem respectable and these men would not pursue him after he left like the prince did her. 

It was then he noticed the map on the wall. “France under the Republic.”

“That’s right. Do you object?” Enjolras asked. The man was a gorgeous specimen. Feuilly wished that he could sit down right now with a pen and paper and draw this Greek statue incarnate. He would have if social constructs did not demand otherwise. 

“Hardly.” Feuilly scoffed. “Why should I be offended by something that depicts a time where I might have been seen as and equal to you?”

“You have strong opinions on the subject then?” This time Combeferre asked. This student gave off the aura of the intellectual without the pretentious airs usually present. He adjusted his spectacles and stared interestedly at Feuilly.

“I’m a self-educated man and therefore cannot pretend to hold the same knowledge of figures and facts as you, but I’ve seen firsthand the cruelty of a government that oppresses its people. The opinions simply followed suit.” There was an edge to Feuilly’s voice. The desire to show them that he was not some stupid laborer held him there, though his palms sweat profusely and his hands shook slightly out of nerves. 

“I see L’aigle hasn’t told you much about our group yet.” Courfeyrac laughed from the corner of the room. 

Enjolras gave Courfeyrac a look that stopped him mid-laugh. “Are there many who share your opinions?” 

“If they do, then they don’t speak of it outside their own heads. Radical opinions aren’t taken kindly to in the circles I walk in, and when you must work for a living then it is sadly easy to give up your morals for a loaf of bread and a tin of coffee.”

“But you do not share their same qualms?” 

“I keep my head low enough to keep my job, but high enough so they know I’m a threat.”

Enjolras nodded understandingly, and Feuilly was flooded with relief that they weren’t going to turn him in. “A mighty one indeed. Are you part of a group yet?” 

“No.” He’d tried several times to join, but either found he couldn’t stomach the people or the content of their half-baked, half-understood, and poorly researched beliefs each time. 

“Then perhaps you would care to join us here again tomorrow?” Enjolras said. “We hold official meetings every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.” 

Feuilly was going to protest, but L’aigle looked so pleased that he found himself saying yes. The second time he came of his own volition. The third he’d become a regular fixture in the backroom, rapidly scribbling notes, working on a fan, or reading a book he had borrowed from Combeferre or Jehan. He was generally quiet, and said little about his work. In January of 1829 he officially declared himself a member of their group. The pronouncement elicited cheers and claps on the back from the Amis. They were his closest friends, and it would be his pleasure to fight beside them.


End file.
